


Fear Effect

by Crimson1



Series: At the End of the Rainbow [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Bottom Len, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Top Barry, bottom!len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rainbow Raider has learned to instill more than just rage in his victims, so when Captain Cold gets hit with paralyzing fear, it's up to The Flash to save him, and then comfort him in the aftermath.</p>
<p>Ongoing series of various ways Bivolo whammying someone with a particular emotion leads to sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldflashtrash](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=coldflashtrash).



> So this is a sequel to At the End of the Rainbow, which may continue to be updated randomly when I get ideas for how being consumed by different emotions (whether while they're under the influence or in the aftermath) can lead to ColdFlash sex. Hell, maybe even other people having sex, I'll leave it open.
> 
> This is also an early birthday gift for coldflashtrash, who deserves everything she asks for. :-) Angst with a happy ending (pun intended) and Bottom!Len? Why yes, here you are. :-) Actually, there's hair pulling too...and probably other things. Enjoy!

Barry could not believe his luck. He hadn’t heard from nor seen anything of either the Rainbow Raider or Captain Cold in almost two weeks, and just when he caught wind of one of them committing a heist, the other was right behind. 

Barry had released Cold out into the world himself after their…encounter with Bivolo’s power. Bivolo had whammied Barry with his red eyes of rage and sent him into a fury at Cold that might have caused Barry to beat the man to death, if he hadn’t been coerced into letting out his forced aggressions in a more pleasant way. 

The memories were vivid despite Barry’s clouded mind during the whole ordeal. He was just thankful he hadn’t done anything Cold hadn’t actually—quite literally—asked for, and that despite the awful nature of the situation…it had been insanely hot for both of them. Barry had never imagined that any of his fantasies of taking Cold after stopping him from committing a crime would ever play out in reality, and while he still hated the circumstance of their first time together, he couldn’t help daydreaming about the next. 

Which was why, up until now, Barry had actually been disappointed Cold hadn’t attempted any new heists for him to foil, a promise having been left between them that Barry could take advantage of Cold any time he wanted if he disrupted his plans again—and what would Cold do if he won the next fight, Barry wondered? 

But there had been nothing, for weeks, only for Bivolo to break out of custody and almost immediately attempt a fresh art gallery robbery that had started simple enough…until Cisco informed Barry over the com that Captain Cold was spotted in the neighborhood shortly after Barry arrived. Had Cold been waiting on Barry to make an appearance, or was this some sort of trap?

Barry had to remind himself that fucking the enemy did not mean they were no longer enemies. Cold was still a criminal. Cold was still dangerous. Being sexy didn’t lessen either of those traits… 

So Barry was understandably surprised when Cold appeared in the middle of the fight—Barry being perfectly safe with protective goggles in place since he had gone in knowing what he’d be facing this time—and proceeded to come to Barry’s aid rather than Bivolo’s. 

Cold jumped in to Barry’s rescue, which Barry did not understand at all…until he thought back to two weeks prior and how devastated he’d been to have fallen under Bivolo’s influence to begin with. Was Cold trying to protect him from that happening again?

But Barry was safe. He had goggles on, and the flashlight secure to his belt if needed, which—shit, he’d lost it somewhere during the scuffle, he realized, patting his sides as he stood up and stared at Cold and Bivolo fighting hand to hand nearby. 

Cold had gotten in close before he attacked, not using his cold gun—if he’d done that when he first arrived on the scene, he easily could have hit Barry with a blast of ice—but it put him at a disadvantage to not use the weapon he was most skilled with. Cold seemed like an adept enough fighter, but as Barry watched, looking for an opening to go to Cold’s aid, he saw Bivolo sneak in a good hit…that wasn’t a hit at all but a chance to snatch Cold’s goggles from his head and look him right in the eyes. 

Barry tensed—not again—as Cold stumbled back, rubbed his eyes furiously, and looked up at Bivolo with a snarl…before his expression fell into something like fear instead of rage and he backpedaled, and then finally turned and ran from the room.

Barry stood still a moment as he processed that, wondering why Cold would run away, but when he zipped over to Bivolo, who was momentarily distracted after the tussle, he saw that the man’s eyes weren’t shimmering red, they were blue—or maybe more like indigo. He had learned to use his powers to instill other emotions, Barry realized! So what had he just done to Cold…?

A whirling crack of Barry’s fist, carefully gauged for speed and point of impact, caused the Rainbow Raider to drop, knocked out and ready for Barry to tie up and leave for the police to grab later. The alarm had been tripped; they were probably already on their way. Barry had to find Cold and the flashlight he’d dropped immediately and get them both out of there. He snatched Cold’s goggles up from the floor.

“Barry, what is going on?” Cisco called through the coms. 

Barry gave a cursory glance around the room for the flashlight. They hadn’t started in this room, but further down the corridors of the gallery. The flashlight to counter Bivolo’s power could be anywhere along the path Barry had taken from first entering the building to now. 

He cursed under his breath as he headed out of the room in the direction Cold had gone instead. He had to find him first. There was no telling what he’d do while affected by whatever emotion he’d been mojoed with, but the expression on Cold’s face before he’d made to flee had definitely looked like terror.

“Cisco, see if you can get Joe to stall the uniforms for a few minutes. I need to go dark.” 

“Wait, what? Why?”

Barry hated when his speed was more of a hindrance than a help; he couldn’t zip to wherever Cold was because he hadn’t seen exactly where he had gone, but at least he was able to check every inch he came across faster than most people. “It’s complicated. I can’t have you blaring in my ear while I look for him.” 

“Him? You mean Cold? What happened? Barry, if he’s there, you should—”

“Sorry, Cisco, I’ll explain later.” Barry turned the com off. He knew he’d pay for that, and he really hated to not be fully truthful with Cisco, but he had no idea how Cold would react once he found him, what he might say, what Barry might need to say to calm him, and another voice in his head through it all would not be helpful. 

He was nearly through searching that end of the gallery, wondering if he’d made a wrong turn somewhere, or missed some crevice Cold could have used to get out of the building, when he heard a sharp intake of breath from a dark corner off to his left. There was some sort of large sculpture, covering the corner in even more shadow than was already caused by the dim lighting of the gallery being closed for the night, but Barry had definitely heard something. 

“Cold?” he called, loud enough to carry across the room, but still softly so as not to spook the other man. “It’s me, Fla—” He stopped himself as he approached the sculpture slowly. “It’s Barry. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not real. It’s just Bivolo’s power, remember? I have the flashlight, and…” He grimaced as he realized he had to be honest. “I dropped it, but it’s here in the building. We can find it, and take whatever emotion you’re feeling away. And if we can’t find it, that’s fine, it’ll still be okay, because I have the one from before back at my house.”

The sound of harsh breathing reached his ears again, louder as he got closer to the sculpture and the dark corner beyond. The breaths shook and trembled, and then there was a distinct sniffle and faint whimper that followed it. Barry stuttered in his step as he realized Cold was crying…

He shook himself alert and steeled his expression to prepare for what he was about to find. He just had to keep Cold calm long enough to help him. 

Barry came around the sculpture and found Cold, back pressed into the corner, knees pulled into his chest as he sat there shivering with his head down, hiding, his hood up to cover him. The sounds of him sobbing were soft but definitely there. Barry wasn’t sure if it was fear or sadness now, but either seemed possible from the color he’d seen in Bivolo’s eyes. 

“Snart…” Barry whispered, approaching like he wound a wounded animal, one hand holding Cold’s goggles, the other outstretched. He crouched down right in front of him and reached his hand toward Cold’s knee. “Len…?”

Before he could make contact, Cold’s head snapped up from his knees, his face streaked with tears and eyes filled with—that was definitely fear. He pressed himself back into the wall, as if he could push himself through it into safety. 

“It’s me,” Barry said, lifting his hand up to indicate he wouldn’t touch Cold if he didn’t want him to. “I’d never hurt you.” 

Cold shook his head like he didn’t believe Barry.

Barry sighed. He had to stick with honesty. “Okay…I’d never hurt you without good reason, and right now I don’t have a reason. No reason at all. You tried to help me, right? So Bivolo wouldn’t hit me with his powers again? But I’m okay, see?” Barry indicated his own goggles, still in place over his eyes. He pulled them down to hang from his neck. “And I have yours too.” He gestured Cold’s goggles toward him. 

Cold shook his head again, unwilling to accept the offer or say anything in reply.

“It’s okay,” Barry tried again, getting seriously wary of the passage of time, because the police could be here any minute, and what would happen to Cold if he wasn’t in control of himself by then? “The only thing I want to do is help. Please…you can trust me.”

Cold clenched his eyes shut and a few more tears streamed down his cheeks. He looked so vulnerable, so pitiable trying to hide inside his parka, crying, too terrified to even speak. He mumbled out, “R-Raider…” when he looked up at Barry again. 

“Yeah,” Barry jumped at the communication, keeping his distance, but hoping for the chance to pull Cold from the corner soon. “He got your goggles off and looked at you. You’re afraid, right? He hit you with fear? I didn’t know he could do that, but I guess he’s learned a new trick. His eyes were a blue shade this time instead of red. But I can help make it go away.” He reached out with his open hand again, urging Cold to take it. 

The moment of silence, of indecision and creeping stillness that followed was maddening for Barry, because they didn’t have time for this, but he forced himself to be patient. 

It startled him when Cold finally moved, because he practically leapt at him, like something was about to take a bite out of him from the corner. Barry had to stand as he gathered Cold into his arms or risk toppling backwards onto the floor. He held the other man, amazed that Cold was actually trying to hide against him now, clutching at the front of his suit and tucking his face into the side of Barry’s neck, physically trembling as if he were freezing. His hood was still up, and the fur tickled Barry’s face. 

Barry wrapped his arms more fully around Cold and gave a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. But we have to find the flashlight so we can go.”

“Raider?” Cold asked again in a hurried whisper. 

“Knocked out. And even if he wakes up, he’s bound and ready for the police.”

“P-Police?” Cold stuttered, his nose pressing into Barry’s neck. 

The proximity of their bodies would have been nice if the circumstances were different. Barry felt no pleasure in seeing his nemesis reduced to this. No one should have to feel as terribly helpless as he must be just now. Barry knew firsthand how impossible it was to dismiss that feeling of rage when he’d been under Bivolo’s power, and it would only get worse. If he didn’t move quickly, eventually Cold would be too afraid to even trust him. 

“I won’t let the police take you. We’re just going to find the flashlight and get you somewhere safe, okay?”

Cold nodded against him.

“We don’t have a lot of time. If we move at normal speed to search for the flashlight, the police will be here. I need to look for it at my speed.”

Cold burrowed further into him. 

It made Barry smile a little to be able to hold Cold like this, something so removed from their usual encounters. If they slept together again someday, Barry highly doubted there would be snuggling after. “I won’t leave you, but if I bring you along, you’ll be moving at my speed with me. Can you handle that?” It was like talking to a child, which Barry knew Cold would probably deeply resent once this was all over, but he didn’t know how else to approach someone infused with this much fear.

There was a pause, another wave of stillness, as Cold clung to him, not moving or saying anything, his breathing harsh as if he were fighting to keep from crying too audibly. Finally, he nodded.

“Okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. You don’t need to move or do anything but let me handle this.” And then Barry was off, hating the gasp that left Cold and the way he clung tighter, but knowing it would be better once he just found the flashlight. 

He was fast enough that even when he dislodged himself from Cold to search various rooms and corners, at least the poor guy never had to feel the loss of him. The problem was, when Barry finally found the flashlight near the door he’d first entered, probably having lost it when Bivolo initially jumped him, the glass was cracked from hitting the floor—it was busted. 

“Shit,” Barry chastised himself, “figures. We’ll have to get the backup at my house.” 

Sirens split the night around them, heralding the approach of the police.

Cold started to shake standing away from Barry, his head bowed with his hood obscuring his face. Barry pulled him in against him again to still the man’s tremors. 

“It’s okay. Just a few more minutes. I’ve got you.” Barry wasted no time before holding Cold securely and flashing out of the gallery toward home. 

At least he knew the house was empty, since Joe was with the cops storming the gallery after Bivolo. He was probably worried, Cisco had probably called him, but Barry had to focus. He’d check in with both of them soon enough.

He zipped Cold right up to his bedroom and sat the man down on the end of the bed. “Just wait here,” Barry said in as soothing a voice as he was able, trying to see beneath the fur of the hood, but all he could make out with the way Cold hunched in on himself was the tremble of his lips. “Deep breaths,” Barry said. “I just need to find the flashlight.” 

He thought Cold tried to say something, but it just sounded like muttering. Barry couldn’t make it out and decided it didn’t matter as much as fixing this.

He scavenged his brain for where he’d stashed the flashlight after the day he’d last used it. He flashed around his room, while replaying the events of that day, starting from when he and Cold were downstairs, but he couldn’t remember what he had done with the damn thing after Cold left. He just had to keep searching. It had to be somewhere, and no one could search as fast as he could.

Only even the few minutes he took were too much for Cold. His muttering hadn’t stopped, but was increasing, and when Barry paused to ask if he was okay, “I’m so sorry, it’s around here somewhere, we can go to the labs if we have to, but I promise it’ll be okay,” Cold leapt up at the touch of Barry's hand on his knee. He scrambled away, stumbling in his haste until he practically crawled into the corner beside Barry's bed, huddling into his parka like he had at the gallery. 

“No, no, no…” he chanted, his voice finally louder than his muttering, but not in any reassuring way. “You can’t help…it’ll just get worse…it always gets worse…”

Barry cringed at the raw emotion in Cold's words and forced himself to keep looking for the flashlight. He knew he’d brought it up to his room. 

Cold’s babbling kept getting clearer, louder. “I can’t keep…living like this…it’s going to kill me…this life will kill me…someday…someone…some mistake…I am s-so fucked up…”

It tore at Barry to hear him like this.

“Or worse…it’ll be worse…and I’ll end up like Dad. And Lisa,” he keened on her name, his voice one great choked sob, “…it’ll be my fault if she dies…I know it will…I-I can’t…handle that..."

There. Finally, Barry snatched the flashlight up from beneath his bed, the last place he’d thought to look, since he hadn’t considered that he’d knocked it to the floor at some point the past couple weeks. 

“She’ll hate me…she’ll blame me…she should. You do,” he said, his voice clear even muffled beneath the hood and spoken into his knees.

“What?” Barry said, tentative as he approached Cold in the corner now. He just needed to coax him to look up. “You think I hate you? I mean…you piss me off, sure, so sometimes I’ve been angry, but…hate’s pretty strong. Sometimes I think maybe you’re not as bad as you pretend to be.”

“I am,” Cold said with a deathly stillness amidst his sobbing, before a whine escaped him and he rocked holding his knees tighter. “It always has to be...more, Scarlet, always bigger. I’ll go too far someday, I know it, I always do…and if I can’t…stop myself, if I...hurt you, if I…kill you, I’ll…never forgive myself…”

Barry froze, crouched in front of Cold, flashlight at the ready, because he knew Cold's feelings were genuine. Bivolo’s power amplified them, but they were still honest, still you at your breaking point with whatever emotion he instilled. 

Cold was afraid of being the monster he'd become. He was a killer, but he didn't want to kill Barry. He didn't want to lose his sister. He didn't want to die the villain.

“I…I can’t…I-I don’t…want…” Cold wheezed, his breath lost now in the intensity of his tears. 

Barry grabbed the other man and pulled him into an embrace no matter how hard he fought it. He hugged Cold close, on his knees while Cold fell slanted onto his hip, Barry’s arms wrapping around him haphazardly but tight. He felt the way Cold clawed at him and then clung, sniffling into Barry’s shoulder, shaking so hard it physically ached in Barry to see him like this. But he had to hang on just for a moment, so he could more easily lift Cold up away from him and flash the counter light into terrified blue eyes. 

Cold blinked rapidly and jerked away from Barry, returning to his huddle in the corner. The hood fell down low, covering his face again, but after a moment of tense silence, he tore the hood back from him and his eyes looked clear. They were bloodshot and damp with streaks of tears all down his face, but he was himself again, free from Bivolo’s power.

“Whatever rage you might be feeling now from that not having been rage earlier, please try to remember that I’m the one who helped you, so don’t take it out on me, and the only way you can confront Bivolo about it is if you break him out of jail yourself this time—again—so please don’t do that.” Barry tried for a smile, hoping he had at least broken the tension that was brewing, but Cold’s expression didn’t waver from blank and emotionless, like he honestly didn’t know what he should be feeling. 

Eventually, when Cold’s breathing slowed, and he wiped roughly at his face to dismiss some of the lingering tears, Barry set the flashlight aside and inched closer on his knees. He tore his own mask back from his face.

“Look...I know firsthand that just because the spell gets broken, doesn’t mean there isn’t some of that emotion that lingers and tears up your insides for a while, so…I’m going to hug you again, whether you like it or not.”

A strained grin broke out on Cold’s face as he snorted, but he didn’t try to move out of Barry’s path or push him away when he made good on that promise and pulled Cold into his arms again. Barry was pretty sure Arrow had never had a moment like this with one of his villains, but then crazier things had happened. 

It was easier to hold Cold this way, him sitting legs apart as Barry remained on his knees between them just holding the other man tight to his chest. There was no hood in the way this time either, or Barry’s mask, so the sides of their faces pressed together and Cold’s nose nuzzled the side of his neck. The dampness from Cold’s tears didn’t bother Barry. He’d cried plenty himself this past year. 

“Not exactly...how I imagined being in your arms the next time, Scarlet,” Cold said like a humored breath against Barry's skin.

Barry chuckled. "I bet not. I can't believe you came to my rescue."

"Don't be ridiculous. It was purely business. This was supposed to be a joint job. Bivolo moved without me."

"So it had nothing to do with not wanting him to send me into a rage again?" Because Barry didn't buy that for a second, not with the way Cold was still clinging.

"Well...I would hate to think of you reacting to anyone else the way you did with me."

"Yeah," Barry huffed, "fat chance of that happening."

Cold burrowed his nose one final time, "Good," and pulled away. His tears were dry but he still looked raw, his face smeared and red.

"I need to check in," Barry said. "Two minutes. But you can stay as long as you need until it wears off more and you feel well enough to go."

Rather than protest, which Barry almost expected, some denial that Cold needed any time to collect himself, the man just gave a grateful nod and leaned back into the wall.

Barry stood and crossed the room to step out into the hallway and turn his com back on, tugging his mask closer to his ear since he didn’t feel like putting it back on. "Cisco?"

"Barry! Where the hell—!"

“I know, I know,” Barry broke in, “I’m sorry, okay. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Did the cops get Bivolo?”

A frustrated sigh responded. “Yes. Joe’s there now, no complications. I think Bivolo was still unconscious when they ducked him into a squad car. Where are you?”

Barry almost spoke the truth before thinking better of it. “I had to get Cold somewhere safe so he could recover from Bivolo’s power.”

“He got hit with the rage?” chimed in Caitlin.

“No. Seems our Rainbow Raider is expanding his color spectrum. It was blue this time—indigo. Paralyzed Cold with fear. I had to chase him down and then get him out of there so I could use the flashlight on him. I’m just going to make sure he’s okay, then I’ll go check in with Joe.”

“Wait—make sure he’s okay?” Cisco said. “Wasn’t he working with Bivolo? Why did the Rogues turn on each other?”

Barry glanced back at his closed bedroom door, making sure to keep his voice low. “He helped me out actually. I guess he, uhh…figured he owed me one since I didn’t kill him when I last got whammied. He made sure to use the flashlight on me that time, so now it was my turn.” That much at least Barry had confessed to everyone, that he had been hit with rage and Cold had managed to snap him out of it—which was mostly the truth.

“Okay, Barry, we won’t argue this time,” Cisco said. “Can’t imagine how awful fear from Bivolo would feel after seeing you with the rage…” 

“Just…be careful, okay, Barry?” Caitlin added. 

“And we’ll expect a full report later!” 

“I got it, guys, I got it. Thanks.” Barry clicked the com off again before they could say anything further. At least everything had turned out okay. He probably would have been just fine without Cold’s help, but he didn’t really mind the assist, even if Cold would swear up and down that he was just beating on Bivolo for doing the heist without him.

Slowly, Barry opened his bedroom door and peeked in. Cold hadn’t moved, but sat with his back against the wall in the corner beside the bed, knees crooked up with his hands resting atop them, and a faraway look on his face. His cheeks looked a little less raw and red, but his eyes still seemed tear-stained. 

Cold’s attention jerked to the door when Barry entered. "I’ll get out of your hair, kid,” he said, and made to stand up. Barry saw the silhouette of the cold gun against his hip, hidden within the parka, never having been taken out to use against Bivolo since he had raced to Barry’s aid with fists flying. 

“You really don’t have to go,” Barry said. “Joe will be a while, and I…like I said, I know how this feels. I mean, I know I don’t know how fear from Bivolo feels, but…” He grimaced. He always rambled when he didn’t know what to say. 

Cold sighed, faltering for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed where Barry had initially deposited him. Barry had set Cold’s goggles there too. He grabbed them and held them in his lap, but didn’t seem to know what else to do with himself. He stared at the goggles like he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—look up at Barry. 

“It shouldn’t be this hard to shake…” he finally said.

Barry crossed the room to sit next to him. He always felt so on guard around Cold, he had to be, but things had been different since their last heated encounter. Things had been different since Ferris Air, really. 

Cold committed his crimes, but only so often, only when something had been planned out to the letter…so that no one got killed and no innocents got in the way, just as he’d promised Barry. It may have come out of a greater betrayal, getting more of his Rogues in line by freeing the metas, but he hadn’t gone back on those initial promises yet. Not since he killed Deathbolt.

“Like I said…it lingers,” Barry told him. “You’ve taken a shower in my house before, I think I can let you have a few minutes to just sit and clear your head. Then you can walk right out the door, I won’t stop you. Technically, you didn’t break any laws tonight.” He grinned ruefully when Cold glanced at him.

Cold huffed, but a smile teased his lips too. “So what did you do? After Bivolo enraged you, either time, to shake off the effects?”

Barry furrowed his brow as he considered that. “Distraction was the best thing, I guess. I just tried to take my mind off of feeling angry. Focused on cases, or Flash work, watched cartoons.”

“Cartoons?” Cold raised an amused eyebrow at him.

“Well yeah, it's impossible to feel angry watching Hanna-Barbera,” Barry defended. 

Cold laughed. “Well at least you have good taste.”

Barry laughed with him. “Damn straight. So, you know, to get over fear…company should help, right?” He rocked into Cold’s shoulder. “I’m not even remotely scary. I don’t think?” He screwed his face at the thought.

Cold didn’t move away, but let Barry lean into him. When he turned his head closer, his blue eyes looked impossibly bright through the remaining wetness in them. “You could be scary if you wanted to be, Scarlet. The things you can do. Downright terrified me last time after Bivolo got you, before I convinced you to think of better ways to let out your aggressions.” He licked his lips, and Barry couldn’t help noticing the way Cold’s eyes darted down to his lips and then back up to his eyes with a purposeful flick. “Distraction, you said? You know…there are better ways to achieve that then just sitting here.”

A new laugh sputtered out of Barry, decidedly more flustered. He tried to lean away but Cold followed him with the weight of his body. “Hey, are…are you serious? I mean, you just—”

“We’re in your bedroom, Flash,” Cold reminded him.

“Well…yeah, coz that’s where the flashlight was.”

“How convenient. So why don’t we take advantage of the situation.”

Barry opened his mouth to protest only to discover a tongue sliding in to meet his, Cold’s goggles dropping from his gloved hands to the floor as he reached with his left to grab Barry’s face. Being alone with Captain Cold, in his bedroom, on his bed, suddenly caught up to Barry as far weirder than holding him while he cried. Arrow had definitely never experienced this with a villain. 

Then Barry remembered what he’d heard about Huntress and realized—yes he had. 

Barry kissed back eagerly, feeling like it was the first time they’d ever locked lips, and it nearly was. Their earlier encounter had only included a brief, fierce kiss, and had mostly revolved around lewd acts and grinding. And then fucking Cold into a dirty warehouse floor.

Barry groaned as he reached both hands for Cold’s waist, slipping inside the open parka to the sweater there and the firm muscles he could feel beneath. Cold leaned into him further, until Barry felt himself tipping back, long strokes of Cold’s tongue coiling into his mouth as he was pressed into the mattress. He scooted up the bed as Cold climbed atop him to straddle his waist, still kissing him heatedly.

This is a bad idea, Barry told himself, while simultaneously thinking, we have time; Joe won’t be back for hours...

It helped that they’d done this before, regardless of the circumstances surrounding that. Hearing what were possibly some of the most honest words he’d ever received from Cold, albeit under Bivolo’s control, had also helped, because now Barry knew that his great nemesis Captain Cold had a heart beneath that ice somewhere.

Cold reached for Barry’s goggles when he pulled up, and tore them off over Barry’s head. He went for the zipper of the suit, finding it easily after seeing Barry unzip it last time, and brought it all the way down to the beltline. The belt was sort of tricky, so Barry helped, undoing it so Cold could unzip him further, all the way until Barry hissed at the cool air striking his heated skin from the suit.

“You really never wear anything under this thing, do you?” Cold’s husky voice asked, reaching right in and pulling Barry out, having hardened so quickly at the thought of where this was going, and then feeling the leather of Cold’s gloves on him. 

“I tried,” Barry said. “It bunches weird if I wear anything. Don’t pretend you don’t like this better.” He looked half-lidded up at Cold. The man barely had a trace of tears left now, or any sense that he had been so broken and humbled. Barry didn’t mind being part of the reason for a faster recovery. 

Cold released him to shrug his parka back, causing it to clank when it hit the floor with the cold gun tucked inside. He started peeling off his gloves, and Barry quickly did the same. That’s when he noticed that Cold's sweater was different this time—because Barry had torn the previous one right down the middle into two neat halves, he reminded himself. 

Barry slid his now naked hands up Cold’s stomach and chest beneath the soft, black fabric. Cold hummed at the contact. He reached for Barry’s cock again. 

“Wait,” Barry panted, and Cold’s warm hand immediately stilled though it didn’t pull away. A sculpted eyebrow arced at him. “There’s something I want to do this time.”

“Oh?”

“Hang on.”

Barry enjoyed the brief, startled look on Cold’s face when he said that, before using his speed to undress them both the rest of the way, leaving their things in a mixed pile on the floor in front of the bed, and then ending up with them flipped from their previous positions, with Cold laid out naked on the mattress, while Barry settled in between his legs. He didn’t straddle Cold, but hunkered down between his thighs. He’d loved the way Cold’s mouth had felt on him last time, and had wanted to return the favor ever since. 

Cold took a moment to process what had just happened, looking at his now naked body, the new position on his back, and then at Barry, who didn’t want to show that he was nervous, since he’d only ever been on the receiving end of something like this. Well, there had been girls, of course, but he hadn’t lied about his time with Cold being the first he'd ever had with a man. 

He tried to channel some of the confidence he’d shown when he was under Bivolo’s power, enraged, maybe, but fully in control otherwise, powerful and commanding in a way that had seemed to really turn Cold on. He wanted to be that confident again, so he made himself grin when he caught Cold’s eyes, and bent to lick the other man’s head with a slow twirl of his tongue without any ounce of visible trepidation.

Cold gasped, and a thrill shot up from the base of Barry’s spine. Cold wanted distraction? That, Barry could provide. He sucked Cold’s head fully into his mouth, constantly moving his tongue, as he descended further, one slow inch at a time, toward the base. Cold was decently sized, not terribly daunting, but big enough that Barry’s eyes watered once he had taken him in fully. He pulled back up to focus more on the head, thinking of the way he most enjoyed having this done to him. 

When he bobbed back down, his throat more relaxed now and able to take Cold deeper, a low, louder moan filled the room and strong fingers came up to grip the top of Barry’s hair. Cold’s hand didn’t hold him in place or guide his rhythm, just hung on and carded through his hair as if he needed something tactile to do with his fingers or he’d lose his mind. That had to be a compliment, Barry decided. He bobbed down again. 

“Barry…” 

Barry’s own cock jumped at the rasping way Cold said his name—his name, not Flash or Scarlet or any other nickname, though Barry couldn’t deny being partial to Scarlet—and it was so satisfying, making it so much easier to find that lost confidence. 

“Yeah…say my name,” he pulled away long enough to order Cold then licked up his cock from base to tip.

“Barry,” Cold said again, hips arching up off the bed to get closer to him, fingers tightening in the longer strands of his hair. 

Barry wrapped his mouth around Cold once more and bobbed down, before the grip on his hair tugged him off. Cold’s eyes were black with lust when Barry looked up to meet his gaze.

“I want you inside me, kid. Now.”

All the confidence Barry had rekindled promptly fell out of him. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe sucking Cold off, and getting a hand job in return. Maybe Cold asking to fuck him. But not for a repeat of last time, no matter how much Cold had seemed to enjoy it—and adamantly said he had. 

As Barry’s nerves began to catch up to him, he lifted himself and moved to brace his weight on the mattress, but before his right hand could press down, it started to blur with blinding speed. “Shit, sorry!” he said, and sat up on his knees to clutch the hand to his chest until it stopped. “Sorry,” he said again, looking anywhere but at Cold’s face. “I told you before, I...I haven’t really learned how to control my speed when I’m with someone. I don’t…I don't know if I can—”

A warm hand came up to grasp his and pulled it down from his chest. “If your hand wants to vibrate, Scarlet…let it vibrate,” Cold said in a hoarse whisper. His eyes danced with mischief when Barry finally allowed himself to look down. Cold brought Barry’s hand to rest low on his stomach, at the beginnings of coarse hair. “Do you keep supplies in your bedroom like a good boy…or are you going to have to hunt for that like you did the flashlight?”

Barry’s brain took a moment to compute what Cold was saying. “Supplies…yeah, I mean…in my dresser.” 

“Good. Then maybe you can treat me right this time.”

Barry cringed at the reminder of basically having forcing Cold to his knees, and later into the floor, bare and barely prepared. “Don’t say it like that. I didn’t—”

“I know, kid.” Cold’s hand still held Barry’s against his stomach and squeezed it until Barry met his eyes again. “We’ve had that discussion. Just let it go…” a corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk, “and fuck me properly.” Cold’s other hand reached between Barry’s legs and gave a firm squeeze to match the hold he had on Barry’s fingers. 

Barry rocked into the tight grip, still hard and weeping now. “One second,” he managed, and slowly pulled himself from Cold’s eager grasps, before flashing to his dresser where he searched for the lube and condoms kept there. The lube he used regularly for…solo needs. The condoms hadn’t even been opened yet, so he checked to make sure they weren’t expired. Thankfully, they weren’t. 

He flashed back to the bed with the bottle and a torn open condom packet and set them aside. 

They now had the two things they’d been lacking during their rage-induced encounter, both of which had thoroughly devastated Barry afterward, mostly for Cold’s sake, since it wasn’t as if the guy had had any real choice in the matter. This time Cold was asking, with both of them sane and thinking clearly—or at least as much as that was ever true—and Barry was going to do right by that.

A million questions swirled in his head as he looked down at Cold, laid out on his bed, flushed and naked, legs spread to accommodate how Barry knelt between them. Barry decided he wanted to keep Cold just as he was, in this position, and he nodded to himself imagining how Cold would look folded up and letting Barry bury himself to the hilt. He shuddered and reached down to give himself a few quick strokes through the precum dribbling down his skin. 

“I feel I need to remind you,” Barry said, “I haven’t actually done this before.”

“Sure you have. Did fine last time.”

Barry scowled at him; Cold seemed to enjoy reminding him of how this had gone down before, and wore a wicked grin at getting what he wanted. 

“Logically, kid…having a calm head on your shoulders should make this easier. So stop worrying. I have complete confidence in you.” Cold rolled his hips, causing his hard length to bob against his stomach. It drew Barry’s gaze only too easily. 

Barry snatched up the lube, and poured it so that it slid down Cold’s cock from the tip, down the length of him to his entrance until it dripped onto the comforter. Barry could worry about stains later. 

He set the bottle aside and ran a hand up over Cold’s balls into the mess of silky liquid and twisted his fingers around the heated skin all the way up to Cold’s head. He passed his thumb over the tip, stroked down again, coating his fingers fully, and then moved down further. He could do this. He knew how to do this… 

He darted his eyes to Cold’s face as he pressed one slender finger to the entrance and slid in smoothly, so easily with the coating of lube. Cold’s eyes were on him the entire time, egging him on with silent sharp rises and falls of his chest as he panted. Barry stroked up and twisted his finger, searching for the sweet spot inside. Cold gasped, and whimpered, and tilted his head back, revealing the length of his neck, but kept his eyes locked on Barry. 

Not quite, Barry thought, and curled his finger again, just slightly more left. A more satisfying moan followed—there.

Barry tried to move slowly, to draw things out, but then he remembered what Cold had said about letting his body move with its natural speed. He thought of how his hand had blurred before and willed it to do the same now. 

“Barr—ngnnn!” Cold choked on his name into a long indecipherable moan as Barry’s whole hand, including the finger inside of him, started to vibrate.

Cold’s hips rocked against Barry, pulling him in deeper. He was tight but so pliant, so easily stretched. He wasn’t a stranger to being open like this, Barry could tell, but whether that meant he had several partners out in Central City or just an active relationship with his own hands, Barry didn’t know. He decided to imagine Cold locked away in one of his safe houses, alone, fingering himself thinking about The Flash.

“You know I do, kid…all the time…” Cold huffed, and shit—had Barry said all of that out loud? And did Cold really mean…? “Hell yes, I do…come on, Scarlet, I can take more.”

Barry’s mind was reeling, but he focused enough to press in a second finger, slowly, still vibrating as he stretched Cold open all the more. He reached down with his left hand for another quick stroke to himself. And another. Cold looked so sinful like this, so unbelievably hot with his legs bent and in the air and his hips arched, as Barry’s fingers disappeared inside him and curled toward that same spot again that made Cold’s voice rumble low and ragged throughout the room. 

Cold rocked more steadily against Barry and his breathing picked up. This was so much better than before, Barry decided, because Cold was wet and stretched and wanton, facing him this time with so much bare arousal in his expression.

“Give me what I want, Barry, I can take all of you.”

“Fuck, Snart…” Cold saying Barry’s name like that was the biggest turn on, and having him ask for it, beg for it.

Barry forced himself not to go at Flash speed as he reached for the condom—he didn’t want to risk tearing it and having to retrieve another. He rolled it over his cock with a hiss at how much attention he needed but had been denied so far, and snatched up the bottle to add a liberal amount of lube, probably more than he needed with how ready Cold was, but he wanted this to be good, so good, without the brutality that had accompanied the first time. 

Cold grabbed himself beneath the thighs and rocked back to give Barry an easier angle, and once Barry’s brain got passed how unbelievable hot he looked doing that, he swooped in, one hand at Cold’s hips, the other on his own cock as he angled himself, felt briefly for the entrance again, and pushed in—slow, gradual, as easy as he could—while his hand kept shaking and he reached forward to grip Cold with it so the vibrations wouldn’t go to waste. 

Having Barry’s pulsating fingers on his cock was all the final push Cold needed to relax fully, and Barry slid in halfway and back again with ease. Then a little further on the next stroke…and further still, until he stroked all the way home, fully engulfed within Cold, and the other man called out his name with a wrecked moan. 

Barry kept his trembling hand on Cold’s cock for as long as he could, but it was easier to set the pace he wanted by letting go and holding Cold’s hips to steady him with each thrust. His hand gradually came out of the blur, only for the rest of him to start in, his whole core and thighs, and he would have worried it would be too much if Cold hadn’t keened a stream of obscenities and ended with, “Harder, kid, fuck…come on, I want to feel this.”

So Barry gave him what he wanted, pounded Cold as hard and as deep as he could, while most of his body blurred with speed, vibrating in the throes of it all. And the noises—damn—the noises that spilled from Cold were devastating.

Finally, too tortured without further attention where he wanted, Cold reached for his own cock, his other hand up above his head, pressing into the headboard, as he stroked swiftly and watched Barry fuck him with a glorious intensity. 

“God,” Barry grunted, “you look so hot like that…”

“You…are gorgeous, Scarlet. I love the way you fuck me.”

Barry moaned at the sight of Cold coming fast and hot over his own hand, his eyes clenching shut a moment as his head arched back again. If Barry could have licked Cold’s Adam’s apple while he finished, he would have, but he was so close, the rhythm so sharp, the vibrations amazing—he had no idea it could be this good giving in to his speed. 

And then he came, balls deep, and hearing the after effects of Cold giving little ‘mmm’ noises like he was blissed beyond reason. 

Barry panted as his body came out of the blur with the last of his orgasm. He stayed there a moment, still connected to Cold and not quite ready to move away. “That…distracting enough for you?”

“Yes,” Cold said succinctly. 

“Good.”

Barry pulled from Cold gently, the other man’s thighs trembling as he set his feet back on the mattress. Then Barry eased the condom off and patted the side of Cold’s knee. 

“One sec.”

He flashed to the trash to dispose of the condom then snatched the towel from that morning’s shower from his closet doorknob and used it to wipe Cold clean, depositing that in his dirty laundry basket in the corner and returning to the sprawl out on the bed beside Cold all in under 5 seconds. 

Cold snorted in amusement and scooted aside to give Barry more room. “Now I need a few minutes to catch my breath…then I’ll be out of your hair. But I appreciate the TLC, Scarlet. Rough nights should always end like this.”

“Though it’d be nice if Bivolo wasn’t involved next time,” Barry chuckled. 

“Preferably.”

They laid there, side by side, barely touching, for a few strangely comfortable, silent moments. There was no rush; Barry didn’t mind if Cold stayed a while, and part of him almost wanted to snuggle into the warm body next to him, but this wasn’t exactly a normal relationship. Barry almost snorted to think that, for him, it was as normal as he’d had in longer than he cared to admit. 

But as amazing as that had just been, he couldn’t help thinking of what had led to it, of Cold overcome with fear, ranting out his worst terrors in a tear-soaked voice. Barry probably shouldn’t say anything, he knew he shouldn’t say anything, but he wanted to so badly that before he could stop himself, the words were already pouring out of his mouth. 

“You won’t kill me, you know? You won’t. You just have to keep your promises. Be as clever as I know you are. Then if someone ever comes after you…or Lisa…just call me. I’ll always help.”

Silence replied at first, charged with static, and Barry wondered if he’d ruined this forever now, whatever this strange connection was between them. 

But then Cold said, “And if I break my promises? If some arrogant asshole thinks he can get the better of me, of Lisa…of you, in my city, and I kill them to protect…” Cold sighed rather than finish the thought, and hoisted himself up, spinning on the bed to drop his feet over the edge and sit there facing away from Barry. “Well then, I guess it will all be over, won’t it?” he said, and stood to begin gathering his clothes.

Barry didn’t know what to say, because he couldn’t say he’d approve of Cold killing someone, but he couldn’t deny that the offer, the promise to do that for him—just as it had happened with Deathbolt—meant something. That Cold was willing to play by Barry’s rules, but would break them if he felt he had to…if someone threatened his life, or his sister’s life. Or Barry’s.

Barry watched from the bed as Cold got dressed, already doing up his pants and reaching for his sweater when Barry said, “I don’t want to be part of what scares you.”

Cold stiffened. He pulled the sweater the rest of the way on then kept his eyes on his things as he sat on the end of the bed to pull on his socks and boots. “Me either,” he finally said, his back to Barry but with a rawness to his words that told Barry they were truthful.

Only Barry wasn’t sure if Cold meant he didn’t want Barry to be part of what scared him, or the other way around. 

The silence wasn’t as electrified as Cold finished dressing, even sliding on his gloves, his parka, his goggles around his neck. Only then did he look at Barry, who sat up a little with his elbows propping him, but hadn’t bothered to move or hide his nakedness. 

Cold cast an appreciative glance down Barry’s body. “See ya next time, kid.”

“Next time?” Barry asked hopefully.

From the doorway, Cold turned back to him with a pleased and promising smirk. “Next time.” 

And when he disappeared to leave down the steps and out into the night, Barry fell back onto his bed a moment and just enjoyed the afterglow of one of the more complicated paradoxes in his life—Leonard Snart, one of his most dangerous enemies, who also happened to love it when Barry sunk deep inside him and made him moan like no one else could. 

When Barry finally rolled to his feet, he spotted the flashlight in the corner where he’d last left it. He snatched it up and placed it in his top dresser drawer with his other more needed supplies so he would always know where to find it. 

Just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Your Trashesty! Here's to many more gift fics to come (I'd wager).


End file.
